


The Deadly Art of Forgery

by KeyPea



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Dreams, Forgery, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Lucid Dreaming, Near Death Experience, Organized Crime, Revenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-06
Updated: 2013-04-23
Packaged: 2017-12-04 11:33:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/710343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KeyPea/pseuds/KeyPea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur gets shot and turns to Eames for help. Can the forger pull off a job that will save Arthur's life?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Eames was lounging around his motel room when he received the unexpected call, and it was mostly the shared history that made him answer it, though a small part of him said he was answering because he wanted to hear that voice again.

“Eames. I need your help.”

“My help?” The Englishman enquired politely, reclining on the bed with a smirk. “What mischief have you been getting up to this time?”

“I’ve been shot.” He said shortly.

“Shit.” Eames sat straight up. “Where are you? Do you need me to take you to the hospital?”

“No hospitals, they ask too many questions. I’ll come to you. What’s the address of the motel you’re staying at?”

“How’d you know I was staying at a motel?”

“Eames, I’m a point-man, do you really think I wouldn’t know when you’re visiting the same town as me? Now give me the address.”

Eames did as he was told and paced up and down the room anxiously until he heard the knock. Arthur was in a pretty bad state, his usually neat hair stuck to the beads of sweat standing on his forehead, wearing his jacket that was badly disguising how bloody his shirt was. He’d got a rag clutched to his arm but judging by how pale he was, he’d lost a bit of blood. He walked in and sat in a chair as soon as the door was open.

“I didn’t know who else to call.” Arthur said as Eames carefully slid him out of his jacket, and after a moment’s hesitation, his shirt as well, so he could take a look at the wound. It wasn’t bleeding anymore, but it looked pretty bad. Arthur had been extremely lucky and not taken a direct hit- the bullet had just grazed his arm, but it had taken flesh with it and made a real mess.

“I’ll clean it, but you need stitches.” Eames diagnosed.

“Can you do it?”

“Yes, but you’ll probably swear at me.” He went and raided his suitcase for a small box kept for emergencies such as these, a necessary part of the job. He threw Arthur a few small bottles of liquor from the minibar as he flicked on his lighter and passed the needle through the flame to sterilise it. Arthur bravely gulped down three of them and gripped the arms of the chair. Eames approached with a clean cloth and some antiseptic solution.

“This will sting. On three,” Eames warned, “One...” he immediately tipped the solution over the wound and Arthur hissed and swore through gritted teeth. “You said on three.”

“I lied. Hold still, darling, whilst I sew you up.”

Eames was efficient and surprisingly gentle with the needle, giving Arthur a neat row of stitches tied off neatly at the end. Then he bandaged up the arm to stop the stitches being ripped.

“Thankyou, Eames.” Arthur smiled sadly, “I knew you’d help me.” Eames tucked one of his own jumpers around him and zipped it up firmly. “We’ll have to get you a shot tomorrow so that doesn’t get infected.” He paused at the top of the zip, wanting more than anything to hug the vulnerable-looking Arthur and tell him everything was going to be fine, but instead he retreated to the end of the bed and sat down. He didn’t believe for a minute that he was the best person Arthur could have called for help.

“You’re going tell me who shot you, and we’ll see if I can help there as well.” Eames instructed.

“It’s complicated.” Arthur’s face crinkled.

“I’ve got plenty of time, and you’re not going anywhere until you’ve told me.”

“Fine. I was on a job. I haven’t touched the dream stuff since Cobb’s inception job. Something about it gave me a wake-up call.”

“Pun intentional?” Eames asked, amused. He was interested to hear though that Arthur had stayed away from the dreams, since Eames had been doing something surprisingly similar.

“Pun not intentional. Anyway, I’ve got another... freelancing job.” He chose his words carefully, and Eames raised an eyebrow.

“Have you fallen in with the wrong people, Arthur?”

“It’s not like that...” Arthur stuttered evasively.

“So what, a disgruntled client? Pardon me for saying so, but you don’t tend to catch bullets unless they’re aimed in your direction.”

“Don’t act like you care,” Arthur retorted. There was an awkward silence where Eames tried to decide if Arthur wanted to genuinely hurt him or if those minibar drinks were kicking in.

“Right, enough of that alcohol for you I think,” He said smoothly, snatching back one of the gin bottles and draining what was left himself. “I do care, Arthur, and I think you wouldn’t be here if you didn’t know that.”

“I was set up.” He pouted. “I was lured somewhere thinking they had another job for me, but they tried to kill me instead.”

“They? Arthur, who have you been working for?”

“They have... criminal connections. They pay me for information.”

“Bloody hell Arthur, are you telling me the mob wanted you dead and you escaped alive? You sure haven’t lost your touch!”

Arthur said nothing, and Eames blew out a long breath, an incredulous look on his face. Arthur was in deep shit, no wonder he’d called. He needed someone he could trust.

“So you were doing some work for a gang involved in organised crime. Things went sour, or you found out too much, and they tried to bump you off to neutralise you as a threat,” Eames thought aloud. Arthur nodded miserably. “It won’t be long before they find me. They want me dead and they won’t stop until they get it.”

Eames scratched his head and a small smile spread across his lips as the beginnings of a brilliant idea formed in his mind. “Oh Arthur, darling,” his eyes glittered, “it sounds like you need a forger.” 


	2. Chapter 2

“I’m not entirely convinced this will work,” Arthur said dubiously. Eames had put him to bed last night and stayed up himself to concoct a plan to solve Arthur’s deadly situation. By the time he woke, Eames was still sitting at the table and had worked out most of the details.

“It’s a good plan,” he argued. “The trouble with you Arthur, is you lack creativity. You only think of linear solutions to your problems.”

“Run it by me again and we’ll go over the details, then. Detail is what I’m best at, you know. Specificity, Eames.” Arthur smirked.

“Fine, but I vote we do it over breakfast, I could do with a coffee. There’s a diner down the street that does a great English breakfast. For an American place.” He winked and went into the bathroom.

“Are you sure I should come? They’re probably looking for me,” Arthur called over the sound of the shower starting.

“If they’re professionals they aren’t going to take a pop at you in broad daylight,” Eames called back. “Don’t worry, I’ll watch out for you.”

OOO

They meandered down the street towards the diner, Arthur wearing a clean shirt of Eames’ as well as the jumper. The motel was on a fairly busy main road but there wasn’t much traffic. It was a nice walk in the morning sun.

“How’s your arm?” Eames asked.

“A little painful, but you’ve done a good job with the stitches.”

“We’ll get you some stronger painkillers after breakfast.”

“I’m sorry for dragging you into this.”

“Nonsense.” Eames replied smoothly. “You’re dragging me into nothing, I want to help you.”

“Would you have helped any other member of Cobb’s team?”

“I wouldn’t risk my life for them, if that’s what you mean,” Eames gave Arthur a sideways look, and could have sworn he saw the ghost of a smile on Arthur’s lips.

OOO

They reached the diner and slid into a booth by the window.

“Coffee please, and a full English,” Eames beamed at the waitress. “What are you going to have darling?” He looked pointedly at Arthur, who muttered,

“Just coffee.”

“He’ll have a coffee and the pancakes, please.” The waitress scribbled their order on her pad and went away. “Got to keep your strength up.” Eames said innocently.

They waited until the food arrived to discuss the plan so they wouldn’t be interrupted.

“So, the plan.” Arthur prompted.

“The plan.” Eames repeated. “I’m going to help you fake your own death.”

Creatively, it was brilliant. It would happen within a dream. The dream world allowed much greater control and freedom to test concepts that may be impossible in the real world. As soon as Arthur was killed in the dream, he’d wake up. Eames just had to make sure it wasn’t a slow death or a torture, but otherwise he’d let Arthur have the honour of facing his would-be assassins.

The job would require both of their skills- Arthur’s attention to detail that would make his dream death feel real enough to his killers, and Eames’ daring and forgery skills.

“So, my body disappears as I die,” Arthur mused. “But they’ll have to check it to be sure I’m really dead, right?”

“Right. That’s where I come in,” Eames replied. “We’ll pull them into my dream, so when they shoot the real you, I can take your place and be your body. I think I know you well enough to portray you accurately, but if not... I guess we can work on that.”

“Once I wake up, I can guard your body in the real world,” Arthur smiled.

“Exactly. Don’t want the bastards waking up prematurely.”

“It’s a good plan,” Arthur admitted.

“It is, but I’m still going to need every detail about the people you’ve worked for so we can pull it off. Plus we need access to the targets to drug them.”

“We’ll need the boss as well as the assassins for them to believe I’m dead, or he’ll want to see my body in the real world,” Arthur said, “but I think I know a way we can get all of them.”

“Good. When do you want to start?”

“As soon as we’re ready. I want them off my back.”

OOO


	3. Chapter 3

 

Eames was able to obtain, without question, the sedatives they would need to put under their targets. These came from a surprisingly clean and respectable pharmacy just a few blocks from the motel. While they were at the pharmacy Eames forced Arthur to sit down and allow his dressing to be changed, and a shot of something injected into his arm. He was given, again without question, a rather large amount of painkillers.

“I have useful friends,” is all Eames would say. Then they headed back to the motel to work out all the fine details.

Arthur thought the best place to gain access to the targets would be at a prestigious nightclub the gang owned. It meant the boss would almost certainly be in attendance, but it was a risk- Arthur would have to let himself be seen in order to lure them away.

“I don’t like it.” Eames said firmly. “What if they decide to just shoot you instead?”

“Then I’ll die,” Arthur replied simply. “I’m tired of running away from these guys. If I walk right into their midst I’ll have the element of surprise.”

Eames shuffled through the papers on the table with plans and diagrams drawn on them, and sighed in exasperation as he could think of no other way to make the assassins chase Arthur. “Alright,” he agreed finally, “with one catch. We need an accomplice to get the boss out of the way. I can’t cover your arse if I’m too busy watching out for him.”

“Do we have time to turn someone on the inside?”

“We won’t have to. Everyone has a price, it’s just a case of meeting that price.”

“So you get the boss out of the way, I lure the assassins out, we deal with them and then rendezvous at the dream point, where the boss should be waiting,” Arthur walked through the plan slowly.

“You got it.” Eames smiled. “Then it’s onto the second stage of the plan.”

“The dream?”

“The dream.”

OOO

Arthur had been in a dream before with Eames, but never alone. It had always been with other team members, but this time there were no boundaries, no mission objectives and certainly no tourists. There was just a room in Arthur’s mind, and the pair were standing in it.

The room was perfectly square and symmetrical, with high ceilings and sparsely decorated in a minimalist style. It was so utterly Arthur that there could be no doubt about whose mind they were in.

“Show me, then.” He said. Eames walked over to the mantelpiece at his request and gazed into the mirror hanging above it. Arthur met his eyes as he did so and suddenly he wasn’t staring at Eames’ face anymore, he was seeing himself.

“I say, who is this handsome devil staring back at me?” Eames teased, the words sounding strange spoken from Arthur’s lips. He walked back to the centre of the room so the real Arthur could take a look at him more closely. He tilted his head this way and that, and walked all the way around his doppelganger before declaring,

“Amazing. I’m impressed.”

“Well I’m not impressed with how tightly you wear this suit,” the Eames-Arthur grumbled. He swept a hand through his hair, mussing its perfection slightly, and undid the jacket and shrugged it looser.

“Slightly better.”

He didn’t stop there and the tie was off in seconds, and Eames-Arthur was undoing the top shirt button, then the second...

“Eames,” Arthur warned. He didn’t want to be stripped in his own dream .

“Oh that’s better darling,” Eames-Arthur murmured, stroking his throat at the dimple where it met his chest and rolling his head back, circling and stretching his neck. In the gape the top two undone shirt buttons had created, Arthur could see the contours of his chest, then in surprise, the tiny mole freckle that rested just above his nipple.

Eames-Arthur was paying no attention, running his hands through his hair again, head titled back, eyes closed and mouth slightly open as he sighed and took enormous pleasure in stretching out Arthur’s tightly wound body.

Arthur was flushed with what he hoped came off as annoyance but it could just have easily been something else. He didn’t dare allow himself to wonder how far Eames’ portrayal was accurate underneath that suit, if he’d got the freckle.

“Eames,” He ordered, and Eames snapped out of his semi-trance and back into his own body immediately, as the dream began to crumble around them.

“My god Arthur, are you alright?” He stared around in alarm at the dream collapsing on them. “You’re losing control.”

Arthur could do nothing but stare in horror at it until the room imploded and Arthur was waking up, shaking and sweaty on the motel room floor. He’d lost control. He’d never lost control of a dream before, and now a simple thing as Eames making a forgery of him had apparently blown his mind. Eames woke a few seconds after, coming to his senses to see Arthur ripping at a non-existent tie as if he were being choked.

“Arthur, I’m so sorry,” Eames was by his side in a rush, passing him water and making sure he was breathing. “I got carried away, you know how cheeky I am, I like to push things.”

Arthur gratefully gulped the water and tried to compose himself, not let Eames see how shaken he’d been to see his body being used by him, his hands in his hair, on his body, the way he’d sighed...

“I’m fine,” he said, relieved to feel his heart rate slowing, his breathing returning to normal. “I’m fine.” He repeated. It wasn’t a lie. “It was just strange to see myself standing right in front of me.”

“Not a lot of people have the opportunity to see themselves in such a way. Usually we only see ourselves in a mirror,” Eames said carefully. “It can be quite a shock.”

“Well you weren’t lying when you said you could pull off the forgery,” Arthur laughed.

“You think they’ll buy it?”

“Absolutely. I don’t think they’ll be looking too closely at the face of the man they’ve murdered, but it’s reassuring to know that if they did, they would be fooled.” Arthur didn’t mention the freckle on the chest.

OOO

Satisfied that Eames’ forgery was successful, Arthur then wanted to test his part of the plan. Testing required multiple deaths at the hands of Eames in the dreams, which Eames had refused to do at first. Eventually though he had to admit it was going to be helpful to know how long Arthur took to die in different scenarios, and how long his body would stick around for.

Arthur taught Eames the layout of the club and the room he would be killed in so Eames could pull that off as well. After all, it was going to be Eames’ dream on the job.

“How do you know they would do it here?” Eames asked, indicating the sparse room around them with a single chair in the middle and a hose and drain at one end. “They could just go for you in the street after chasing you.”

“Too much evidence left behind, too many potential witnesses. There are too many elements out of their control for them to risk it.”

“Control. I think I can see why you worked for these guys.”

Arthur looked a bit sick. “This is their murder room. I wish I could say I didn’t know that, but I’ve seen what happened to the ones who didn’t get away.”

“Where do the bodies go afterwards?”

“They’re wrapped up and put outside the back of the club, then a truck comes for them later.”

“That’s another thing that could work in our favour to cement your death,” Eames mused. “If there’s something wrapped up there in reality, plus the memories of the assassins and the boss will match up after the dream.”

“Anything that helps.” Arthur shrugged. “Now you’ve been putting this off long enough. I need you to test shooting me again.”

OOO

Eames had decided to take the form of another man for the test killings, and Arthur had to admit he was grateful for it. It meant he didn’t have to stare his friend in the face as he was killed over and over again for the benefit of research. They discovered through this research that Arthur’s body was spirited away once he woke unless Eames, the dreamer, consciously kept it there. This would be required on the actual job so Eames would have time to take Arthur’s place.

A few times after testing, Eames awoke to see Arthur rolling his totem die to reassure himself he hadn’t actually died. Eames never said anything, giving him space to calm down and compose himself before they moved onto discussing something else, but he always privately swore to himself that after this job, he’d never test kill Arthur again.

By the end of the week, they were ready to put the final stages of the plan into action. Eames had traced the perfect accomplice; a female waitress at the club who hated her job but did it for the cash, and paid her an obscene amount of money to spike the boss’ drink and lead him to a secluded area at the back of the club where he could be extracted without being seen.

“All a case of finding the right price,” Eames had smirked to Arthur later. “There’s very few people in this world who are incorruptible.”

Arthur had been busy creating a ‘body’ whilst Eames had been out bribing, and with a couple of sacks of flour, a shroud and some rope, had made a passable body that looked as if it had been wrapped ready for pickup. They would leave it at the back of the club after the job was done.

“I think we’re ready.” Arthur remarked to Eames.

“Then tonight if all goes well, you will die and in doing so, get your life back. Don’t you just love it when a plan comes together like this?”

Arthur grinned. “Bring it on.”

 


	4. Chapter 4

The small team stood in the alley behind the club and went over the outline one more time, whilst Eames checked his equipment for his part of the plan. A car was parked at the end of the alley, ready to go immediately after the assassins had been knocked out. The hairy part of the plan was this first part, and Eames wasn’t at all happy about it, because if it went wrong, Arthur would die for real. He had to show himself at the club in order to lure out the assassins, and hope that they didn’t shoot him right there and then.

Information from the waitress Eames had paid off suggested to them that the assassins were in the back room playing card games, an ideal position from which Arthur could lure them out, whilst the boss was in the main club, drinking at the bar. Eames slipped the waitress the sedatives for the boss, and she hurried off nervously before she was missed.

Still annoyed with himself for failing to come up with an alternative option that didn’t involve endangering Arthur, Eames snapped, “just be careful,” at him.

“Don’t worry about me, just be ready with those sedatives,” Arthur adjusted the jacket on his brand new suit, and winced slightly at the pain in his arm when he brought his hands up to check the tie. Eames lightly slapped his hand out of the way when he saw Arthur’s pain and saw to the tie himself, tightening it up just how the point-man liked but leaving good room for air. Arthur’s cheeks flushed as he did this, remembering the dream testing and how Eames had managed to make an erotic display of undoing a shirt. “Do you have the PASIV?” He asked, and Eames nodded, remembering precisely the same thing, with a green stretching over his features. When he was done with the tie, Eames slipped a small handgun into Arthur’s pocket.

“I’d rather you didn’t do this at all, but you should be able to defend yourself if it goes wrong.”

“Thank you. Are you ready?”

“Got the needles right here. Go get ‘em.” He slapped Arthur on the back, who took a deep breath, and entered the back door of the club.

Eames took the caps off two syringes filled with the sedatives and waited at one side of the open door, out of sight. His heart was pounding and he shuffled with nervous energy, far more than he usually did on a job, but this one was personal after all.

OOO

As Eames waited, he realised the plan could be messed up if the assassins saw the boss on the way. He was torn with indecision whether to charge inside and check the boss’ whereabouts or simply stick to the plan, but it was mostly the fact Arthur was depending upon him to watch his back that glued his feet to the floor.

It was a good job he stayed put, because he immediately heard the sounds of outraged shouts, followed by banging doors and a gunshot. Eames’ heart skipped a beat at the sound, but when Arthur flew through the door next to him and took off up the alley, he was so relieved he could have wept. One assassin wasn’t close behind, shouting backwards as he jumped the doorframe, “get the boss!”

Eames simultaneously tackled him from behind and jabbed his neck with one needle, dragging his body to the side out of the way as the assassin went down like a sack of bricks.

“Wait, the boss is here,” he heard the other assassin call from inside. “Sir, we’ve got Arthur, we’ll bring him back for you,” and he heard pounding footsteps before the second assassin appeared in the alley. Eames let him get out of sight of the doorway before giving him the same treatment. “Too easy,” he grinned as the man ate the gravel. Assassins, after all, didn’t usually expect to be attacked from behind themselves.

A moment later the boss appeared in the doorway, looking a little worse for wear, hanging off the arm of the waitress. “Just a little further Sir, then you’ll be in the fresh air.” She encouraged him forward with a firm hand in the back, and it was enough to send him sprawling himself as his drugs took hold.

“Much obliged.” Eames reached a hand in his jacket and brought out a brown envelope, which he handed to the waitress. “Now find a new job. Cheerio.” She nodded, snatched the envelope, and ran towards the end of the alley, not looking back, not even acknowledging Arthur, who was sauntering back down the street himself, having barely broken a sweat.

He spread his hands casually. “Still alive.”

“Won’t be soon,” Eames rolled his eyes, “but nice job. They didn’t suspect a thing, and as a bonus, this one saw the boss before lights out,” he gently kicked the prone assassin on the ground. “I’ll fetch the car.”

OOO

Arthur kept a careful eye on the unconscious gang in the back of the car whilst Eames drove a few blocks into a warehouse. Arthur leapt out and rolled down the shutters whilst Eames set up the PASIV.

“Still got the gun?” He asked.

“Yes.”

“Good, keep it. Bring the boss under after you wake,” Eames reminded him as he hooked up the others. “They’ll waste a little time looking for him in the dream and it gives me chance to take your place.”

“I can’t believe you’re doing this for me.”

“Please, darling. How could I say no to that pretty face of yours?” Eames grinned, settling himself on the floor next to Arthur, who clasped his hand in gratitude, a small squeeze saying everything he wasn’t currently able to articulate.

“Good luck, Eames.”

“Good night, Mr Arthur.”

Eames winked, and pressed the button. 


	5. Chapter 5

The dream was an eerie repeat of what had happened before, in the alleyway. Eames set up the club exactly how it had been, and populated the bar with projections to make it feel real. The assassins were back in their game room; Arthur was ready to lure them out. The boss was not yet present- he would be put into the dream when Arthur left it, to give Eames time to take his place.

Eames waited outside, as before, and this time Arthur strode confidently into the room. Part of his act was to attempt to kill the assassins, and of course get captured himself. There were shouts of surprise from the men as Arthur casually skimmed a hand over the head of one man and slammed it down onto the table. He gave a half-hearted kick at the other that didn’t quite strike, then feined being out-numbered and tried to run.

 Of course they immediately gave chase, the assassin who’d had his head banged swearing and stumbling not exactly in a straight line. Arthur didn’t try quite so hard to get away this time and they caught him easily in the hallway, shoving him violently against the wall as they bound his hands and checked his pockets for weapons.

“It was stupid of you to come back here,” one of them hissed, “but at least you’ve saved us some work finding you.”

Arthur shrugged as best he could in his bindings. “One of us was always going to kill the other. I figured I’d get a headstart.”

“Well that’s too bad, because you’re going to die right now. Boss’ orders.”

They forced him to walk to the chamber and the waiting chair. Eames followed discreetly, making sure that the men were going to take care of business themselves and not enlist any help. He couldn’t get a good view of the room without giving himself away, but he’d hear Arthur’s death, and that’s all he needed for now. He could hear the assassins muttering amongst themselves and the scrape of the chair as Arthur was forced into it.

Arthur couldn’t help a smirk cross his lips as the assassins played right into their hands. Fortunately, they didn’t bind him to the chair, simply being content to leave his hands tied.

“Give the bastard a slow one for me,” the assassin who’d suffered Arthur’s short wrath grumbled.

“We tried slow last time and he got away,” the other one snapped. “We do it quick this time, like the boss said.” He squinted at Arthur. “How the hell did you survive that, anyway? You took a bullet in the arm, and we’ve been watching the hospitals.”

“I learned a thing or two working for you, remember? That’s why you’re killing me now.” Arthur replied coldly. “I’d suggest you go for the headshot this time.”

“Oh don’t worry, we’ll finish you off.” The leader of the two assassins mimed shooting at his head. “Fetch it.” He instructed the other one, “and then watch the door.”

Eames melted into the scenery as the other assassin went to fetch the gun, but he needn’t have bothered- the weapon was only in the next room- a 9mm handgun complete with silencer that Arthur had described for Eames to dream up. As the assassin left the second room, Eames entered it. It would be the perfect place to listen out for the shot. He leaned against the wall and waited, forming a picture of Arthur in his mind, the suit, the face, the hair, his stance. Soon it was Arthur standing in the room, and Eames took a small hand-mirror out of his pocket to check the transformation was complete. It was, so he concentrated on the real Arthur’s position, sensing where he was in the dream so that when he was shot, he could keep the body there.

He didn’t have to wait long. A single shot rang out, and a trickle of sweat trickled down Eames’ forehead. This was it- Arthur’s part was over, and it was all up to Eames now to help fake his friend’s death and give him his life back. He concentrated on sensing Arthur’s body, by now just an object in a chair, and prayed that he could keep it there until he saw the precise location of the bullet wound and reflected it in his forgery.

“Watch this door,” he heard the assassin tell the other one. “I’ll fetch the boss.”

OOO

Arthur awoke in the warehouse and rolled his totem die to make sure he was still alive. He rubbed the spot between his eyes, half-expecting to feel a gaping hole there. The assassin had been true to his word, and put a bullet straight in his head. That would make Eames’ job easier, he thought, and shook his head. How on earth had he ended up relying on Eames to sort out all this shit, he wondered.

He crawled over to the boss, not quite trusting his legs, and quickly hooked him up and put him into the dream. It would all be over soon, and he’d know one way or another if he’d been successful. Almost as an afterthought, he crawled over to Eames’ prone form and whispered something into his ear. He had no idea if it would work, but if music was able to reach the unconscious...

OOO

Eames heard an eerie echo in the recesses of his mind that sounded a bit like Arthur.

“The boss is under. Good luck Eames... sweetheart.” The voice said.

_Oh, that Arthur_ , Eames mused. _Sweetheart, really_.

There was no time for amusement though- there was work to do, and it was now or never. Concentrating, Eames cut a door into the wall instantaneously and threw it open. It disappeared as he stepped through. Arthur’s body was slumped in the chair, the bindings keeping it from falling to the floor. Considering he now had a bullet in the forehead, he looked neat even in death. Something pulled in Eames’ chest as he looked as his friend in the chair, even though he knew it wasn’t really Arthur. Eames glanced at the door- the other assassin was facing the corridor, thankfully. He quickly pulled himself together and adapted his forgery to reflect the wound, and felt a curious sensation on his face, almost as if something cold slid across it.

With one last look and a lump in his throat, Eames relaxed and let Arthur’s body go. It faded away, leaving room for Eames to get in the chair. He dreamed the ropes had him tied and watched with a smug smile on his face as they defied gravity, snaking up and around his arms. _Damn, it’s like magic_.

He arranged himself in position and clamped his eyes tightly shut as he heard the assassin coming back with the boss, then their footsteps were in the room. Eames concentrated on slowing his breathing right down so the movements of his chest were barely perceptible as the three stepped into the room and walked around him, checking the bullet wound.

“Good job.” The boss said to the other two. “That’s a loose end nicely tied up. Now get his body out of my club.”

He disappeared and the assassins brought in the tarp and rope. Eames forced himself to relax all his muscles as they untied him and laid him on the tarp. Soon he was covered and they started tying him up, at which point they put a rope around his neck to hold the tarp closed. Eames tried not to make a sound as the rope began to choke him, and prayed he didn’t suffocate before they’d finished the wrapping.

He felt the sensation of being lifted, but it became obvious that one of the assassins, whomever was holding up the head end, had him around the neck, restricting his airflow even more. Eames could feel his hands and feet starting to twitch, and was glad that they’d at least bound them tightly. Otherwise they’d be sure to notice that the “body” they’d wrapped up wasn’t actually a body at all, and the whole job would be blown.

_Put me by the back door_ , Eames prayed as his view of the inside of the tarp started going fuzzy around the edges. _Just leave me here_. He felt his face grow hot as blood flooded his face, having nowhere else to go. He tried to swallow but the arm around his neck was too tight. Realising he was going to make noise if he choked, Eames bit down on his lip as hard as he could. He was going to black out soon, and there was nothing he could do about it.

Mercifully, he felt himself being lowered to the ground, though by now Eames was beyond caring. As the footsteps retreated, he tried to raise his arms to rip his way out of the tarp or at least loosen the rope around his neck, but they were bound too tightly, and anyway, he couldn’t take the risk of being seen. The more he struggled, the more he choked, and the growing darkness overwhelmed him.

OOO

He awoke in the warehouse, hands groping for his throat, instinctively ripping out the IV and gulping in lots of air. Arthur was immediately by his side, helping him sit up, supporting him and demanding to know what went wrong.

“I died,” Eames said in amazement. “I suffocated.”

“Did the deception take?” Worry lines were etched onto Arthur’s forehead.

“Yes, I think so,” Eames replied, still massaging his throat. “I was out the back by the time I blacked out. They put the rope that tightly around my neck...” He shuddered. “Be glad they shot you.”

“What do we do now?”

“Stick to the original plan. Top up their drugs, we don’t want them waking up before we get them back to the club.”

Arthur did as he was told and shoved them all in the car whilst Eames remained seated on the floor, turning his poker chip totem over and over in his hands. 


	6. Chapter 6

As they drove back to the club, Arthur noticed Eames’ hands in a death-grip around the wheel, knuckles white. He stared straight ahead at the road, not speaking. Arthur kept glancing backwards at their unconscious passengers, but he was much more concerned about the driver.

“Eames, are you okay?” He asked tentatively, and the Englishman glanced at him briefly.

“Sorry,” he said quickly, “I should be asking if you’re alright. You were the one they shot point-blank.”

“I’m fine,” Arthur interrupted, “but you don’t look so good.”

“This is the hardest job I’ve ever had to pull off,” Eames admitted.

“Why?” Arthur furrowed his brow. “Cobb’s inception job was much more difficult, and there was more at stake.”

“More at stake than your life?” Eames laughed hollowly. “Oh darling, you really haven’t been paying much attention if you think this is just another forgery to me.”

Arthur frowned again but didn’t say anything, having to turn his attention to the passengers. If any of them woke before they reached the club, the job would be blown. “We’ll talk about it later then,” he said grudgingly. “Don’t think you’re getting away with this one.”

OOO

Eames pulled around the back of the club and let the car run in the alley for a minute, until he was sure the coast was clear. “I never want to see this place again,” he muttered as they started unloading the passengers and carrying them into the back room where they’d been until Arthur had lured them out. Once they’d got everybody in, he told Arthur, “go and lay out your body, I’ve got something else to take care of.”

As Arthur went away Eames took a small circular device from his pocket, and slipped it into the jacket pocket of the boss. It was a listening device, small enough to go undetected but powerful enough to allow Eames to hear any conversations the boss might have. It was a good way of making sure that the forgery had taken and Arthur’s life was safe.

Almost as an afterthought, as he was leaving Eames entered the killing room and turned on the hose, splashing some water around the chair and surrounding areas. He had no idea if that had been what the assassins would have done after moving the body, since Eames had suffocated before that point, but any small details to solidify the kill in the minds of the assassins couldn’t hurt.

Arthur was waiting in the car, looking anxious. “What do we do now?” He asked as Eames got in.

“We get the hell out of here, and hope for the best.”

“Fine, but I want you to tell me what’s in that head of yours,” Arthur insisted.

“Drive to that diner we went to before. The noise means cover to talk freely.”

OOO

As they settled into the corner booth away from everyone else, Eames took a flip phone out of his pocket and opened it on the table. “I planted a listening device,” he explained. “Since I was killed in the dream and that wasn’t supposed to happen, I want to be totally sure that they aren’t after you anymore.”

“You’ve done enough already,” Arthur told him. “I should never have dragged you into this.”

“I told you before, you didn’t drag me into anything. I knew what I was signing up for that night I stitched you up in my hotel room and let you stay afterwards.” Eames swept a hand across tired eyes. “This job was different, personal. That’s why it was difficult.”

“Go on,” Arthur sensed this wasn’t all Eames had to say, and he was right.

“Forging you, that was personal too,” Eames started. “I crossed the line once or twice...” and here Arthur blushed, remembering Eames’ demonstration of the forgery where he’d started to undress Arthur, “...but I only did so in the pursuit of perfection.” 

“Perfection?” Arthur echoed.

“You. It wasn’t just wearing your skin, I wanted to get in your head as well, find out what makes the calm and collected Arthur tick.” Eames gave Arthur a wry smile, who stammered,

“D-did you find out?”

“Well, I certainly got into your head,” Eames winked, trailing a hand across the dimple of his throat, the exact place he’d stroked when making his forgery. Whether it had been deliberate or unconscious, Arthur couldn’t tell, but if he knew Eames, he also knew everything he did was deliberate.

“There was something undeniably exquisite in figuring you out, Arthur.”

“And do you make a habit of getting into the heads of every forgery you make?” Arthur stared determinedly at the table, not quite knowing if he wanted to know the answer, and not wanting to meet Eames’ eyes when he heard it.

“Only yours.” Eames murmured. “I’ve only ever wanted to know what was inside yours, and I’m still not sure if I know.” He fixed Arthur with a heavy stare as if he were still, at this moment, studying his every feature in order to make the perfect copy of him.

Arthur sat perfectly still, the flawless image of calm that Eames had commented on, his smooth features unreadable and giving Eames nothing to pick up on. Until his hand twitched on the table. The movement was almost imperceptible, but a shit-eating grin spread right across Eames’ face.

“I knew it,” he said smugly.

“Knew what?” Arthur replied, but before he could do anything, one of Eames’ hands had shot across the table to grasp his own just as Arthur felt his other hand beneath the table, squeezing his knee. If his sharp intake of breath was anything to go by, Eames certainly had figured him out, and Arthur’s emotions revolved between annoyance that he’d given himself away so clearly and a fledgling hope that Eames wasn’t just playing games with him.

Eames could see the furious conflict happening in Arthur’s brain and squeezed his knee again more gently. “I’m not just messing around,” he reassured. “I’d always hoped...” he trailed off awkwardly, removing both of his hands and keeping them to himself. He tried again, “I’m glad it was me you turned to for help, that’s all.”

They were both distracted by the phone on the table making crackling sounds. Eames pushed a few buttons and they heard the boss’ voice sound clearly from the speaker, along with one of the assassins.

_“Is it done?”_

_“Yes sir.”_

_“And the room?”_

_“Has been hosed down sir, like you wanted. It’s still drying though, look.”_

_“Good. Check the body is still outside then call to have it collected.”_

_“Yes sir.”_

_“Oh and well done for dealing with it. We won’t have to worry about Arthur again.”_

Arthur looked up from the table, a smile spreading across his face. Eames snapped the phone shut and reclined slightly in his seat, returning the smile. “So Arthur, how does it feel to be a dead man?”

“It feels... like freedom,” he replied, shaking his head at what they’d managed to pull off. “Of course, I can’t come back here again in case they spot me and all your hard work is undone.”

“We did it together, old chap.”

“What will you do now, Eames?”

“I’d planned to return to England before you showed up in my hotel room. What about yourself?”

“I honestly don’t know.” Arthur murmured. There was a brief silence between them in which Eames wanted to shake Arthur for being so apparently emotionally oblivious to everything that had been said, but instead he settled for rolling his eyes to himself.

“The world is yours, Arthur,” Eames said casually. “Of course, if you’re totally stuck I might be aware of a few openings back home where a point man could help a forger out.”

“Come to England... with you?” Arthur asked hesitantly, still not sure if Eames was playing games.

“Bit slow on the uptake, aren’t we darling?” Eames teased. “Is that a yes?”

“If you’ll have me,” Arthur grinned, feeling something pull in his chest as he gazed at Eames. The forger was trying to keep his features casual but there was no denying the excitement that sparkled in his eyes. Arthur could feel that same excitement and hope thrum through every fibre of his body, making him brave. He ventured a hand across the table himself this time, and Eames took it, surrounding it with his warm palms and giving it a gentle squeeze.

Arthur gave a happy little sigh. Who could have known that faking his own death would make all the pieces fall into place?  

“I’m glad I called you,” he said. 

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Doppelgänger](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2367875) by [KeyPea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KeyPea/pseuds/KeyPea)




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